


Nothing's Alright

by songohanfan1



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Suicide Attempt, emaciation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 07:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6414886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songohanfan1/pseuds/songohanfan1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gamzee is sad and tries to off himself, karkat shows up</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing's Alright

Gamzee: Do It-->

 

You ignore the voice. You've been hearing voices for so long you barely even register when one starts talking. 

You've stopped hoping it was a real person trying to talk to you. 

You're slumped against a corner in your dirty food preparation block, trying to zone out so you don't have to think anything for a while.

Yeah, your thoughts haven't been too cheery lately. Kinda hard to be happy with all this shit. You haven't been happy, or even content, in a long time.

You've mainly just been apathetic, doing nothing, not eating. You hope you'll wither away soon so it won't hurt anymore.

You have no idea exactly how long you've been laying here, but you listen as your stomach grumbles again, it's become back ground noise by now.

The lights are all off, your curtains are closed, so you don't have any sense of time. Not like it matters anyway, what's the point of experiencing each night when you're hated by everyone on the planet, including yourself?

Your mind wanders. That's all you can really do, you doubt you'd be able to get up even if you wanted to.

Moments in wrigglerhood, your lusus, the Messiahs. 

Motherfuck. That shit. You briefly scoff, you had entrusted your entire life to some fakey fake bullshit clown religion. Hoped and truly believed you'd go to Shangri La. 

You had worshipped two humans with painted faces and thought they'd deliver you to paradise, believed you just had to live and believe and you'd be fine.

But now you know.

The only gods that exist are on your planet, and are alien monkeys. 

The derelicity of your situation occurs to you and you chuckle. 

You've lost everything.

Your faith. Paradise. The fucking Game. Your friends. Your palebrother. Trust. 

Calliope crosses your mind. You feel overwhelming guilt, to the point your pusher hurts.

You betrayed her. Abandoned her and left her to die.

Yeah, you knew what would happen.

You tried to prevent it by tying them to the walls with those chains. But you knew he'd find a way. 

She was your little miracle. Pure happiness and the nicest chica you've ever had the pleasure of caring for.

Goddamn you miss her. 

She was lost in the Game too.

You lost your brightest miracle a long time ago. 

You betrayed Karkat, hurt him, killed him even. You definitely traumatized him, and killed your friends. 

Even after you did those wicked deeds, he still papped you, saved you. He was your Hero. 

And you killed him. 

Fuck.

Warm liquid streams from the corners of your eyes, and trickles down your chest. You hate the feeling. 

You hate any feeling you get these days to be honest. 

You just want to stop feeling. 

You open your eyes for the first time in you don't know how long. You can feel the crusty, just-waking-up shit stuck in the seems of your eyelids. 

You don't have the energy to reach up and rub it away. 

You let your eyes drift slowly across the room and land on all the empty pie tins gathered in a pile, just for order though, no one would ever want to pile with you. 

You remember the good old days, when everything was miracles and nothing mattered. You can almost feel the warm, fuzzy feeling that crossed your body and took over your mind when you partook in it. 

You miss the days when you didn't know one color from another, didn't know about hemocastes and shit.

When you saw people and not colors. 

Not paint. 

Not crimson.

You get another pang of hunger, this one is more urgent, saying you ducking need food now. 

But you can't get up.

And don't want to either. You're content to just slowly rot away. 

But you don't have to.

You could go quickly.

Another glance around the room, you see nothing you could use. 

Hehe you bet you could call Terezi she'd gladly hang you. 

But there's nothing.

You suppose you could do it yourself. 

But how?

You experimentally dig your nails into the palm of your right hand. 

Marks are left, but without the strength to back up your attempt, it's not a viable way to do it. 

Plus your survival instinct would probably kick in and make you stop. 

A memory of you trying to wade in the ocean to find your lusus croarea your mind. Feferi had been on her way to visit you, so she saved your clown ass before you got your drown on.

There's an idea.

 Plus, with the condition of everyone's opinions of you, she wouldn't save you again.

You just need to get out.

You know there's no way you can stand, so you start crawling towards a closed. 

You dig your fingers I see the door and pry it open.  

Out rolls your skateboard. 

Sweet. 

You manage to get it under you and push off. You push yourself forward with your hands I too you get to your door.

You manage to stretch your shaking arm up to the knob and turn it.

You leave.

Unfortunately you hit the sand and your board can't roll on it so you're stuck crawling again. Oh. It's daytime. 

Sweet.

Maybe you'll burn then. 

Inch by inch, you crawl, digging your hands into the burning sand and pulling yourself forward.

 Your arms give out a couple feet from the shoreline.

 Guess plan B will have to work then. 

You feel your skin burning already, the sand hearing beneath you doesn't help. 

Actually it does.

Won't be too much longer now.

You're dehydrated and your mind fogs over. 

Finally.

Suddenly you're being dunked underwater. It hurts like a bitch, the steam leaving your body a testament to how close you were to your goal.

Once the hissing mod the stean stops you're pulled out and dumped on the sand.

You look up.

The sun behind the person is blinding, but you manage to make out the concerned scowl and it's familiar.

Your know those forehead creases from countless hours spent trying to smooth then out. 

It's your bro.

Your miracle.

And now, your savior. 

You smile gently before succumbing to slumber.

Just gonna take a little nap.

* * *

 

Be: Karkat-->

Yeah you are, and you're a little fucking busy right now, trying to drag this boneless carcass out of the sun and back inside his huge, yet shitty, hive. 

You drag him against the sand, you know how much it'll hurt when he wakes up, but refuse to care that much.  

And it'll give you a little satisfaction. 

You since as his head bumps the door frame. That hurt even you. 

You keep pulling until you have him slumped against the bottom of a pile of...confetti? You don't even know.

Whatever. 

 Once you get him into a semi-sitting position, you take stock of just what the fuck is wrong with this douche. 

Well, obviously the burns. His arms and face are blackened, his lips cracked and bleeding. You have a feeling it's the same situation under his ratty pajama pants too. 

Geez.

You've had some very conflicting feelings about this guy, but you never wanted or expected him to try to burn himself to death. 

It makes something in your pusher hurt and you want to cry. 

You ignore it. 

 You need to get his clothes off of him before the burn sores atart sticking to them. If that happens, it'll be a bitch to clean.

You kneel next to him and decide to cut the clothes off instead of chancing the possibility of rubbing something wrong and causing bleeding.

Your claws cut along the seams of his shirt. It's bigger on him than you remembered. 

Once the material is of and he's bare you realize something is really wrong.

This asshole's bones are outlined in a taut layer of tight, blackened flesh. You can count every run with extreme clarity, its kind of horrifying to be honest. He has scars all over his chest,  seems the Game didn't want to get rid of bulletshot scars. 

You take in a shakey breath and keep going down along his pants.

You notice he's covered in a fine later of dirt and sand, with a terrific fucking aroma of burned skin. 

You stand up and go to find a washcloth so you can get him to not die. 

You find an old, greasy one at tge bottom of a horrifically empty sink. You pick it up and turn the knob of the faucet, trying to clean it off. 

It hasn't been used in a while, from how long it takes for the water to rattle down the pipe. 

You ignore what that means and squeeze the rag out. You notice a plastic container and decide it would be best to bring more water with you, he's really fucking dirty.

You fill it up and return to Gamzee.

You carefully wash along his chest, gathering all the shot with the cloth and paying extra attention to the wounds. This fucker's probably enimic with how little nutrition you think he's gotten. 

He's finally clean and your container is now full of black and purple water, you couldn't avoid some blood when there was mud caked in old scratches. 

You put aloe across his body, hopefully soothing the burning he'll feel when he wakes up. 

You're lathering it across his legs when you hear a rumble erupt from his stomach. 

The fucker's hungry. No wonder, he probably hasn't eaten anything other than pure shit for months.

Since you all told him you hoped he died.

....

Anyway.  

It won't stop so you get up and go to his refrigeration container. You open it, and the only thing inside is some faygo, a couple flowers and a towel. 

What the literal fuck. 

You grab the faygo, bringing a bottle of red pop for you and root beer for him.

You consider going outside to fish but remember the sun is still out. You'll feed him after he's awake, and after there's not a chance of you burning to a crisp immediately. Okay time for the bulgehump to wake up.

You go back to him and untwist the cap of the faygo slowly. There's a hiss and it makes you remember better times. When this burned troll was your best friend. You never told him that, but he really was.

Now...

Now you don't know what you are. 

You lift the bottle to his lips and let the liquid slowly trickle out. 

 After a bit, you put it down and watch, looking for any sign that he'll get up.

Eventually, you see his eyelids flutter. He blearily looks at you.

He smiles. You smile back.

He pulls you into a weak hug and you keep him tucked against your shoulder as he sobs.

You pat his back and shoosh him. 

You guess you know what you guys are now.

You whisper to him.

"You're not alright, but it's okay. You'll get better. We'll get better."


End file.
